My Dad
(This is the speech I made at his Life Celebration last night, June 17, 2017)
My Dad
As the iconic owner of Templin’s Beer Depot, my Dad, Red Templin, spent most of his life, helping other people celebrate parties, events and life. He wasn’t much of a partier himself, but he immensely liked to see other people enjoying themselves. He did not like to be the center of attention and he was not a religious man and he didn’t like to see people sad. So when my mother, Shirlee Templin decided how to best honor his life, it seemed fitting to have a celebration of his life, in a fun place rather than a funeral or memorial service in a somber place. She, and myself, I’m Traci for those who don’t know me, and my 3 sisters, Shari, Connie and Jamie are all so pleased and grateful to every one of you for showing up here to help us do just that tonight. I am going to try to get through this without tears, but I know that Dad and you will forgive me if that doesn’t happen.
I have never known anyone like my Dad. He was not a saint, nor would he want me to paint him as one today…but He was incredibly humble and one of the kindest people to walk the planet. He was always considering how someone else felt, or what he might be able to do to help someone. He was the guy who was the first to make amends or apologize. He was the guy who would forgive your mistakes and weaknesses. He was the guy who always showed up…if you needed help he was there…even if it meant closing the store to do it…even if it meant getting up out of a warm bed in the middle of the night…even if it meant altering his plans…oftentimes offering help before being asked. He was the guy who loaned anything anyone needed without hesitation…his tools, his car, money…anything….and oftentimes he offered before someone needed to ask because he was so empathetic to people’s troubles. When I was young, I actually thought that he had an inability to say No to people and I thought it was a weakness…that he allowed people to use him… and when I saw that happening, it would really upset me. I finally addressed my feelings with him one day, and he told me that he knew sometimes people took advantage of his generosity, and he knew that some of the people he helped were less than upstanding citizens, but that he always looked at the bigger picture…he saw their personal struggles and he emphasized and he saw their innocent families and how it all affected them…and oftentimes it was them he was really helping. And as I grew up and as I saw the effect he had on people’s lives (As I saw over 6,000 people read his memorial website within a week) I understood that it was actually one of his greatest strengths. It wasn’t that he couldn’t say NO…it was that he didn’t want to or didn’t feel the need to.
My Dad had not lived an idyllic life in his youth…it had been hard in many ways and instead of allowing it to harden him, he had chosen to allow it to teach him empathy…in droves. He had been blessed to have a very close relationship with his Mom, Marvel Templin and his brothers, Clayt and Bud. When my grandfather, Edwin Templin (later on changed to Fleming), left my grandma to raise 3 young boys on her own during the depression, she really struggled and eventually had been forced to place my dad and his 2 older brothers into a care system for several years.
A couple of years ago, I took my Dad for a drive in his hometown of Fond du Lac, and we just drove around and he pointed out spots of importance to him and shared memories of his childhood and his life there. When Dad pointed out the place where the “Children’s Home” as he called it, used to be, I commented on how hard that must have been for him to have had that happen. His comment was, “Oh no, we were grateful to those people. We always had food and they took good care of us and I learned how to work. And my older brother Clayt always looked out for Bud and I so no one ever dared pick on us. And when my mom eventually could support us, she got us out.” That day I learned that my Dad had chosen love and compassion and gratitude over resentment and self-pity.
Several years later, my Grandma had to let her boys go again….as they all enlisted in the service of WWII. Whenever I think of those war-torn years, my heart goes out to those who had to watch their loved ones go…not knowing if they would come back…and to all of the young men (and women) who went off, not knowing what they would endure. I would like to take a moment to thank all those who have ever served our country…my Dad included. My Dad was in the army, mostly stationed in The Philippines (and also in New Guinea) and he saw more than his share of fighting. He never talked much about it, but believe me, this gentle soft-spoken man who raised me without ever raising a hand and rarely his voice, indeed had a powerful warrior side. And I saw it come out whenever me or my sisters were treated harshly or unfairly. He put many a boy’s face in a snowbank who threw nasty snowballs at us and he took one very large boy who spit on my sister and pretty much made sure that kid would never wanna spit again.
Near the end of the war, my Dad was stationed in Japan during the Occupation. When I asked him if that hadn’t been hard…to live among the people who had just been trying to kill him…and who must have resented his being there. His response was “Oh no, they were grateful we were there. The village people were very kind to us. I made very good friends with a young man there, whose father had been an officer in the army and his family had me to dinner several times. He and I wrote to each other over the years.” My dad had chosen empathy and understanding and common human friendship over fear and retaliation and resentment.
After the war, my dad and his brothers, who all returned safely, were reunited with their father, who had since become a somewhat successful businessman. He offered them all jobs at his local nightclub in Appleton, “The Town Club.” When I asked my dad if it wasn’t hard for him to have his dad just show back up like that after basically abandoning them as kids, his response was, “Oh no, he felt bad about that…and wanted to help us boys after the war. So he gave us jobs and taught us about business.” My Dad chose forgiveness over anger or judgement.
And thank goodness he did, because that bar is where my mom met my dad. She was there on a date, which apparently was not going well, and her date said to her “Well maybe the bartender can make you happier than I can.” And she looked over at my Dad and said.” Hmmmmm, maybe he can.” And indeed he did. Attesting to my father’s warrior side, my mother tells stories of how my Dad would jump over the bar and defend a woman being disrespected or to break up a fight. Children, Women and Animals…he was always a staunch defender of them all throughout his life.
Eventually, my Uncle Clayt bought the Beer Depot which was next door to another bar my Grandpa owned, The Corner Bar, and then hired my dad to work with him. I was really little then, but my cousin Bob Templin and his best friend Boots Krueger, who are both here tonight, can share stories of those years…as I know they both have quite a few. My Uncle Clayt died far too early and my dad was devastated. Afterwards, my aunt Dee tried to run the store for a while with my dad’s help, however she eventually decided to sell to my Dad. It was at this time that my Mom started working there as well. That store was a special place run by special people. It was located in a neighborhood and was part of the life there. My dad always had a well-trained and faithful dog by his side, he knew many of his customers by name and they all knew the dogs by name. And I want to take a moment to honor those dogs, who my dad loved, Laddie, Trevor, Bandit and Chelsea.
My Dad always had a smile and a little bit of humor and banter for his customers….and oftentimes silly nicknames. He somehow managed to make everyone feel important and welcome there… usually offering everyone a deal…whether it was to round pennies off…omit the tax, or to offer his famous free bag of ice…or a treat for their kids. Even the Local kids coming in for soda and candy were always welcome…it was on the walk home from several schools in the neighborhood and there was always droves of kids stopping in around 3:00. He was always patient with them as they decided how to spend their pocket change and he never shooed them out….and usually he gave them more than they paid for…and if some kid didn’t have money, well they didn’t leave empty handed. And many, many of the neighborhood kids got their first jobs there…bagging ice, walking the dog, dusting bottles. My dad loved kids. And he hated smoking. And if he saw a teen smoking or if they tried to buy cigarettes he gave them a lecture on that “dirty habit.” And many an adult was offered that lecture as well.
The Beer Depot was a bit of a hang-out place…kind of like Floyds Barbershop in the Old Any Griffith show. There were the regulars who would stop by after work and buy a beer or a soda and just hang out and shoot the breeze…maybe dust some bottles, or help carry out for customers or play with the dog. There were oftentimes nighttime card games, usually Sheephead played at the counter.
My dad worked long hours, 365 days a year. I can count on one hand how many times he took a sick day… and on his off hours, he usually spent time in his garage workshop making something for the beer depot or for my Mom or us kids or to sell…over the years he made so many things. He was incredibly creative. And I can’t tell you how many bird house pieces he must have cut out over the years when we kids and our friends wanted “to help” him. Since oftentimes that was just too much help, he would instead cut out all these pieces and set us to working on those. His patience with us was endless. Over the years in that workshop he taught me to use almost every tool imaginable (and he had almost every tool imaginable…usually 3 of each…one at his home workshop, one at the Beer Depot…and one that had been leant out but to whom he couldn’t remember when he needed it….(the local hardware store staff knew him well). He taught me how to paint, how to create something from nothing, how to think outside the box and solve problems and how to make something better. He taught me perseverance, as he often times had to make things twice or do things over to get them right…he used to joke about it and he and my mom called him “Two Time Red.” Oh, and he also taught me to clean up after myself.
As a child I spent as much time with him as I could…at the Beer Depot, in his workshop, and at home. And somehow…no matter how busy he was, he always found a way to make me feel included. I can remember when he was really busy in the garage, and I could not help, I would then drag out my “sawhorse” pony (a wooden literal sawhorse with attached stirrups and a bicycle streamer tail) and sit on it in the driveway for hours pretending I was riding the range, making sure that I was close by in case he needed me to hold a piece of wood or a tape measure or pound a nail…and inevitably, as my pony and I were riding merrily along… out of nowhere would come “Ole Dan Wheelins” ( his bad guy persona) which would send me riding like the wind, or running for cover or having me draw my pistol for a showdown. I never knew when Dan Wheelins would appear…and he delighted in scaring us by jumping out when we least expected it and announcing in a gruff voice “here comes ole Dan Wheelins”. It was all “gooder” (this was a word my Dad always used when we were kids, and which he and I never retired and still used to this day) I could go on and on and on about the way he made my childhood wonderful, how whenever we wanted an ice cream on a hot day he would pile all the neighborhood kids into the back of the truck or his large car and drive us all to Dairy Queen or 31 Flavors (and usually treat everyone since the other kids wouldn’t have money) or how he would come home on his day off to find the fishing boat pulled up into the driveway full of kids and freshly dug worms, and how he would hook it up to his car and take us all fishing despite his other plans for the day.
Our house was the hang out house. My parents made sure our home was a place for kids to be comfortable. We had a backyard play house we called The Fort, a pool in summer and an ice rink in winter, a pinball machine, a bumper pool table, a card table, a ping pong table, a very large dart board (with real darts…lol and no one put an eye out although I think we all had holes in us at one time or another) and all kinds of sporting equipment and games. Everyone came to our house. Sometimes even when we weren’t there we would come home to find one of our neighborhood friends in the garage “working” with Dad. We were not rich…not by far…but he made sure my mom, my sisters and I never truly wanted for anything. And in reality, we were more than rich…we were truly blessed.
One of my favorite stories about my Dad happened when I was 11 years old. I had wanted to play little league, since I played ball with all those boys anyway down on our local sandlot. But I was told girls could not play. So my dad took me down to the local rec dep. to discuss it with the head of the dept. and ask how we could start up a girls little league. Well he told my dad that girls can’t play baseball because they would get hurt, and that we would never find enough girls interested anyway…so he suggested I just play softball. My Dad said, “Well, I didn’t ask your opinion, I asked you what we needed to do to start a league.” We were then told what to do, and my dad took me around to all the local grade schools to get sign ups…which we did. And I believe that league is probably still running today thanks to my Dad.
When I was 16 I started working at the Beer Depot and by age 18 I was there full time and by 20 I was the assistant manager. I worked there until I was in my 30’s, when life finally took me to CA. And when I had my own kids…I made sure my house was the hang out house with lots of fun things to do. That our garage was a place of creativity and projects…that humor was part of life…that we always had pets…and that I erred on the side of compassion whenever possible and that I treated my children with respect…all things I learned from my Dad.
When Dad had his stroke in Sept. of 2014 his life was forever changed. Up until that moment, he was still completely self-reliant…still driving at 91, still sharp as a tack. The stroke affected his left side…and he was left handed. While his speech came back completely, and his leg to a great and functional degree…his arm was not responding despite everyone’s best efforts and that was ultimately the reason he had to move into Living Tree Assisted Living, as it affected his being able to use a walker. This was reason for me to pack up and move myself, my partner Jerry, our 4 horses, 4 dogs and a cat all back home to WI…I needed to be here for my parents as they navigated this difficult time….and I am so very grateful that I did. I became Dad’s health care advocate, his rehab cheerleader, and his personal assistant.
This was all very hard for him…the man who had always been the caregiver. So, when he said to me that he felt he was a burden to me, I said, “Oh No…I am glad to be here. I still have so much to learn from you Dad. You are now teaching me how to accept help, you are teaching me to still have a sense of humor in the face of adversity, you are teaching me to accept unwelcome change gracefully. You are teaching me about aging and challenges and you are allowing me to give back to you…I am not doing anything you wouldn’t do for me….and you are giving me time to just be with you.”
It was hard to see him struggle… and I did a lot of crying and mourning his losses (and mine) during that time. And it was hard to be the “Nazi” who was constantly questioning and monitoring things going on around his health and rehab care. But these last 2 ½ years were a great gift to me. And I can tell you, he still managed to be a caretaker himself those years. His room at Living Tree became somewhat of a night time haven for the staff. My dad stayed up late, kept his room at a decent temperature and always had bowls of treats. He also always offered a compassionate ear to their troubles, and his sense of humor never left him, nor did his ready smile….and of course he had nicknames for many of them.
And he was always asking about Mom and whenever I brought him a treat or a gift or a meal…his response was almost always, “You should take some of this to your mother…” “Did you get some for your mother”… “What did your Mother eat today…what is she having for dinner”… “Your mother loves chocolate, why don’t you take these to her”… “I saw this item on tv and want you to pick one up for your mother”… “How is your mother doing today?” He was always concerned for her. (And as she is still vibrant at 92 and still living in their home, I know how much he would appreciate knowing that family and friends would offer her extra love, attention, comfort, companionship and kindness now and until the end of her days in his absence….her well-being was his main worry about “going before her.” And even as I was doing last minute shopping today, and was picking out the red roses which I needed to sprinkle the petals of on these tables…I heard his voice clear as day saying, “ Your Mother loves roses, Why don’t you get her one?” So here Mom, is a single red rose from Dad…who loved you with all his heart and soul right up to the end and beyond.
All my life, in my eyes, my Dad was my hero and my rock and my greatest teacher. I have loved and adored my dad since I can remember. He was the greatest single influence on my life by far and we shared a very close relationship (even during my teen years)…and whenever I would allow myself to think about the possibility of him dying, I simply could not imagine such a thing. I also could not imagine how I could ever survive his death myself.
I was with Dad when he crossed over on May 19. I had been at his bedside almost continually the last 3 days he was here. And it was incredibly peaceful. I had been with him through some really rough times during the past 2 ½ years…some really, really rough times…emotionally, physically and mentally. And I wouldn’t trade them for anything. I wish to hell he hadn’t had to suffer a stroke and go through all of this, but that wasn’t for me to decide. That was what life dealt. Truth is, had my father died that day in Sept. 2014, while it would have been easier on him…it would have been far, far harder on my mom and on all of us who loved him. I don’t know that I would have been able to stand here and talk about his life without melting into a puddle had he died then. However, these last years were a gift. I have grown a lot, evolved, learned even more at his side. And when he made it clear that he was going to be leaving soon, we all honored that and supported his decision...it was time. I will tell you it was incredibly peaceful and very spiritual. So peaceful and so spiritual that it changed something in me forever. And it strengthened me on a very deep level.
My Dad’s passing seems to mark the end of an era for me. Not many people are left who have seen or experienced what he had by being here since the early 1920’s. He was a true gentleman and a gentle man. The world is not the same without him in it. So I grieve that as well as grieving my personal loss…missing the man who was always, always there for me….and yet, I know he is not “gone.” I have had almost daily signs and messages from him. And I know he is in a far better place and at peace, reunited with beloved family and friends and dogs gone before him…and I am happy for him. How could I not be? He lived a long and glorious life and he was tired, his body had worn out…and I know that he is still watching over all of us. I miss him like crazy…and I talk to him daily. I managed to survive his passing and somehow I managed to get through this speech….because of his strengths. Because of what I learned from him and from what he passed on to me. I have tried very hard to be “my father’s daughter”…and just to prove it today…I had written my speech for tonight over a week ago…worked for hours on it…was really proud of it…and when I went to print it out this morning…it was gone. I am always so careful to save things when working on my computer…I can’t for the life of me think where it went?? But I cowgirled up, and re-wrote it this morning…probably better than the first time….just like I had seen my Dad do countless times with his projects. Just call me Two Time Trace.
Thank you all for listening…for allowing me to share a bit more of my Dad with all of you…the people who loved him, who he loved, and who all helped make up the tapestry of his beautiful life. Its all Gooder.
I would like to end by sharing some thoughts that Dad lived his life by:
TAKE CARE OF EACH OTHER SHARE WHAT YOU HAVE PLAY NICE BE RESPECTFUL LEARN TO FORGIVE ENJOY DESSERT KEEP A SENSE OF HUMOR BE OF SERVICE SHOW UP GIVEN THE CHOICE TO BE RIGHT OR KIND, ALWAYS ALWAYS BE KIND and lastly, his advice whenever a stressful situation had you upset or angry or sad, “JUST LET IT GO…”
My son Theo and I printed these thoughts on a memorial bookmark we designed as gifts for everyone here tonight. Please take several (we have a lot) and place them around your living areas…and remember my Dad whenever you come across them…